


A Matter of Conduct

by amarielah



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Propositions, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Drunkenness, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Torture, Past Violence, Slice of Life, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW), implied sticky interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarielah/pseuds/amarielah
Summary: Megatron realizes that his attempts to improve Rodimus' leadership are wholly ineffective, and tries a different approach. The result is a very awkward conversation that both mechs would rather not be having.





	A Matter of Conduct

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't get over how massive a shift in circumstances the Lost Light represents for Megatron. So this may prove to be the first in a series of one-shots exploring how he adapts, both consciously and unconsciously, to his new environment. (It's hard, being a former genocidal warlord who can no longer use violence or abusive manipulation to get what he wants. It's hard, and nobody understands.)
> 
> This fic makes references to a few other IDWverse Transformers comics, including Megatron: Origin and the Autocracy trilogy. Neither of them are on the same level as MtMtE or Lost Light in terms of quality, but they do provide some interesting context for Megatron, and for his relationship with Rodimus. 
> 
> The MagsMegs/MiniMegs is pretty subtle, but I write all my MtMtE!Megatron fics with the assumption that Megs has a massive, initially unrequited crush on Minimus from pretty early on. Though, being a repressed and still-pretty-evil nerd with toxic attitudes about emotional intimacy, he's very deeply in denial about it.
> 
> Timeline-wise, this takes place during the six month timeskip at the start of MtMtE Season Two.

The Lost Light is a truly ridiculous place.

It's not as though Megatron hadn't dealt with his share of neurotic individuals during his tenure as leader of the Decepticons. On the contrary - the cause had attracted a disproportionate number of weirdos and outcasts. Such is the nature of movements that tap into a wellspring of disillusionment with the status quo of society. But Megatron had never allowed the Decepticons to spiral into the depths of absurdity that he's observed aboard the Lost Light.

Thus, Megatron has concluded that the problem lies not with the crew, but with the captain. The Lost Light is ridiculous because  _Rodimus_ is ridiculous, and indulges the antics of his most eccentric subordinates.

Megatron has of course been voicing his concerns, but nothing ever comes of it. Methods he'd employed with his Decepticons to great effect are, he now realizes, not entirely suited to his new position. He can't ensure any consequences for disobedience, after all. A different strategy is therefore in order.

Which is how Megatron finds himself standing outside of Rodimus' hab suite during one of their shared off-shifts. They always share off-shifts, as nobody aboard trusts Megatron to take command without Rodimus' supervision - lackluster though it is.

Rodimus is visibly intoxicated when he opens the door. "Oh. It's you." There's definitely disappointment in his tone. Megatron wonders, briefly, who it is that Rodimus had been hoping for instead. Then dismisses it as irrelevant.

"I wished to discuss something with you in person," says Megatron.

Rodimus looks like he'd rather do just about anything else. He's nothing if not a creature of pride, however. "Okay. Do you wanna...come in?"

In the past, Megatron would've never deigned to accept such an invitation. But he sets aside the impulse to refuse, and says, "Very well."

Rodimus looks surprised, then miffed. Which helps Megatron to make peace with his decision. Rodimus had no doubt been hoping for the plausible deniability of Megatron leaving of his own volition. It's Rodimus' go-to strategy for avoiding tasks he's deemed unworthy of his time. One that's particularly effective on the likes of responsible, conscientious mechs like Ultra Magnus.

"Have a seat, I guess," says Rodimus, gesturing vaguely to one of the chairs. It's large enough to accommodate Megatron's frame, though Megatron suspects its intended occupant is Ultra Magnus. He wonders, as he sits, how many times the second-in-command has actually come here. Given the general mess and clear lack of organization, he can't imagine it's often. Rodimus tops up a half-empty glass of engex before sitting down as well, facing Megatron. "So. Whadd'ya wanna talk about?"

"Your conduct," says Megatron. "And the example that you're setting for the rest of the crew."

"Because you're not already doing that every chance you get, apparently," Rodimus says, then takes a deliberate chug of his drink.

"It occurs to me that my criticisms have been reactive and vague," says Megatron. "I wish to take a more... _constructive_ approach."

"You've been talking to Rung, huh?" asks Rodimus, clearly amused at the prospect.

Megatron has been making a pointed effort  _not_ to speak to Rung, in point of fact. There's something about the way the psychiatrist looks at him that makes Megatron feel...uncomfortable. But he  _has_ been reading Rung's published works, since he suspects that Rung was the only thing that kept the Wreckers from completely disintegrating under Impactor's no doubt hamfisted leadership.

Instead of answering, Megatron says: "You're not stupid, Rodimus, however much you like to  _play_ the fool. You must know that you're ill-suited to command."

Rodimus snorts, taking a deep pull from his engex. "'Constructive', my ass," he says.

"I'm not suggesting you resign. I understand that even my 'co'-captaincy sits ill with the crew, and I don't think there's anybody better suited to take your place." Megatron crosses his arms over his torso. "Ultra Magnus is ideal as a second, but lacks the flexibility required of command. Deadlock may have served, had you not exiled him - I understand that he's considerably less impulsive now than he was under Turmoil."

"His name is  _Drift_ ," Rodimus says, glowering at Megatron.

"Drift. Yes. My mistake." Megatron settles his arms back on the armrests. "My point, Rodimus, is that you are the  _only_ option, whether you're right for the job or not. But that does not mean that you cannot  _improve_."

Rodimus slumps back in his chair, smiling lazily, all hint of hostility evaporating. "Ooh. Lemme guess: I need a more 'tyranny'-oriented leadership style."

Megatron resists the urge to roll his optics. "The lack of discipline on this ship is largely due to a failure of leading by example. I'm suggesting that you have better mastery over  _yourself_."

Rodimus leans forward again, still smiling. "Nah. I think you just have impossibly high standards, Megs. I'll happily admit that I'm not the kind of mech who could start a cult, get millions of my own followers killed, and then come out the other end with most of 'em still down to suck my spike."

Nobody has dared to speak to Megatron in such a manner since his days as a gladiator. Even Starscream, who loved nothing so much as haranguing him, had held back from ever putting things so... _crassly_. So Megatron can't quite hide the look of disgust that twists his face, even though he knows it will only serve as encouragement. "Must you make everything as vulgar as possible?"

"Only when I'm drunk," says Rodimus, grinning unapologetically.

"Funny how I barely notice the difference from when you're sober," Megatron grinds out.

Rodimus just shrugs, gulping down even more of his engex. "So, like, do you even feel  _bad_ about all the people who died because of you? Or is this whole change of spark just an ego thing? Because Mags doesn't think you even  _can_ feel bad about it. Says you have a 'pathological lack of empathy'."

Megatron is struck dumb for several moments, taken-aback by how much the words sting. Of course, he's under no illusions about Ultra Magnus. For all that they've established a rapport of sorts, Ultra Magnus is not the sort of mech who sees the world in shades of grey. "And you agree with him?" Megatron asks, once he's certain he can keep his tone neutral.

Rodimus makes a face. "I actually  _don't_. Mags just can't really handle the idea that somebody can do the things that you did and  _not_ be a psychopath. I mean, I think you're  _capable_ of giving a slag about other people. You just never let yourself get to that point."

Megatron remembers, all of a sudden, the first time a mech had called him a psychopath. It had been back in his gladiator days, at the inception of the Decepticon movement. He'd beaten that mech to death for the insult. The irony had been lost on him, then. Now, it's blindingly obvious. "Perhaps there's some truth in both those perspectives," he says. "If a choice is made consistently for four million years, one wonders if it's still a choice by the end. Or if it ever was."

"Not inspiring confidence here, Megs."

"And I suppose you'd believe me if I told you that I never took any kind of pleasure in the destruction I wrought? Or that I'm not concerned, at least partly, with how that reflects on my legacy?"

"Of course I wouldn't." Rodimus' expression turns pensive. A klik of silence passes, as Megatron debates whether or not to leave. But to do so feels like cowardice. At length, Rodimus asks: "Were you happy, though?"

"I'm not sure I follow," Megatron replies, truthfully. Rodimus is mercurial at the best of times, but the drunken shifts in his mood are on another level entirely.

"When you were sending mechs off to die, or killing them yourself, or torturing them - did it make you  _happy_?" He swirls around the remaining liquid in his cup. There isn't much of it left. "Because they're not the same, are they? 'Pleasure' and 'happiness', I mean. When I was still living in Nyon, there were all these Syk addicts out on the streets. Scrounging and leaking and stealing to get 'hold of enough shanix for their next fix. And they got  _pleasure_ from the fix. But everything outside of that was just...miserable. Which is why so many of them fell for your ridiculous promises."

Megatron scowls at Rodimus. "I find this comparison absurd."

Rodimus shrugs. "Is it, though? Because one of the reasons I never joined the Decepticons, back when Zeta was in charge and you were still making some kind of sense, was how much you reminded me of those addicts. You had that same crazy hunger in your optics." Rodimus gives him a sidelong look. "You remember, right? When you made your pitch to me? You had Bumblebee tortured, and said it wasn't even about the information. That it was about - dominance and submission, I think were the words you used. And this was all while I was  _right fragging there_. Like you didn't even realize how messed up it sounded."

Of course Megatron remembers. "Bumblebee...didn't deserve it," he says.

Rodimus looks at the Autobot badge on Megatron's torso. "Oh yeah. You  _like_ him now." He looks back up, straight at Megatron's optics. "You know he didn't really change that much, right? The Bumblebee you had tortured for fun was pretty much the same 'bot you teamed up with four million years later."

"It wasn't for  _fun_ ," Megatron insists.

Rodimus rolls his optics.

"It was about setting an  _example_. Lowering morale."

" _Dominance_ and  _submission_. Your words - not mine."

"Torture is actually an inefficient means of gleaning information," Megatron says. "Mechs will say anything to make the pain come to an end. It is chiefly a tool of  _demoralization_. And yes, establishing dominance. My motivations may have been deeply misguided, but they were  _not_ a matter of petty sadism."

Not at that point, anyway. Not yet.

There's a long pause as Rodimus' mood shifts visibly once again. "Damn it," says Rodimus, his vocalizer crackling. "I shouldn't have brought this up. What the frag is wrong with me?"

Megatron realizes that the turn in their conversation must have triggered memories of that whole affair - including Rodimus' destruction of his own home city. A year earlier, Megatron would've probably derived some enjoyment at Rodimus' expense. Especially since Rodimus is the one who led their conversation in this direction in the first place.

Megatron sighs. It's time to change the subject. "Define happiness."

Rodimus lets out a strained, bitter chuckle. "Well isn't that just the million shanix question." He goes silent for several long moments, optics haunted, then says: "Rewind went around the ship one time and did these interviews. Asked a bunch of us if we were happy. I couldn't answer him, then. But I've had some time to think about it." He downs the last of his engex. "So...I guess that happiness is a point you reach when you can step back, look at your life, and be genuinely okay with the prospect of things staying exactly as they are. Not resigned to it, or too tired to bother with it. But actually  _okay_ with it."

"By that measure," says Megatron, "I've never been happy."

"Yeah." Rodimus gazes mournfully down at his empty glass. "Me neither."

"Though I'm not sure that complacency is something to aspire to."

Rodimus seems to seriously consider Megatron's words. "When things are bad? Sure. But when things are good? Like, legitimately good? I'd like to know what that feels like. To just be okay with staying exactly where I am because of how not-terrible my life is." He pauses again. Then, apropos of nothing, says: "You know, a couple'a people have accused  _me_ of being a sociopath. Said I fit the profile. Impulsive, grandiose, manipulative, glib." His mouth twists. "I'm not  _actually_ one, obviously. I'm a Primus-certified conscience-haver, courtesy of the Matrix. But sometimes? I kinda wish they'd been right. It must be liberating, to just not give a slag about the horrible things you've done."

Megatron thinks back to the few genuine sociopaths he's met over the course of his life. Two of the three Phase Sixers had qualified - a side-effect of the ununtrium bonding process, Megatron suspects. "I think you'd find that such an existence is characterized by perpetual boredom and a pervasive lack of meaning."

"Yeah. You're probably right." Then, in another shocking swerve, Rodimus asks: "Wanna frag?"

Megatron shoots Rodimus an incredulous glare. "Excuse me?"

"Not, like, full 'facing. Just some stimming. Maybe some oral?" Rodimus grins. It's not even a suggestive grin, which somehow makes it  _more_ disturbing. "Not to brag, but I'm  _amazing_ at eating valve."

It's not as though Megatron has never been propositioned before. Leadership comes with a certain allure, even beyond the belief that exchanging such favors may result in personal advancement. But no Decepticon would've dared to be so  _blunt_ about it. And even with a more respectful, subtle approach, Megatron had consistently rebuffed them. "I can't even  _begin_ to describe how inappropriate this is."

Rodimus goggles at him. "You know, in some ways, you and Mags are super alike, and it's  _really fragging weird_."

"In the way that he's the only other mech on board with anything resembling a proper grasp of discipline? Certainly." This all but confirms that Rodimus has propositioned Ultra Magnus in the past, and that Magnus turned him down. Because of course Magnus understands the importance of professional boundaries. "Effective leadership requires objectivity. Indulging in such relationships undermines one's authority."

Rodimus snorts. "Cut the slag, Megs. We're the same rank, and it's not like I'm asking you to be my conjunx. If you don't wanna frag me, you just have to say so."

Megatron stands, having officially reached his limit. He counts it as an accomplishment that he's made it even this far. "I can see it was a mistake to attempt this conversation when you're intoxicated," he says.

"Can't argue with that," says Rodimus, gazing up at him. "Offer's still on the table, though."

Megatron answers him by leaving. It's only once he's halfway back to his own hab suite that he realizes just how thoroughly Rodimus had steered the conversation away from himself. And, most frustratingly of all, Megatron isn't even sure if it was  _deliberate_.

He checks his datapad once he's on his recharge slab. There's a message there from Ultra Magnus. A timely report that's no doubt extremely thorough, and lacking a single grammatical error.

Unbidden, Rodimus' words regarding Magnus return to the fore of Megatron's processor, along with a fresh wave of wholly unwelcome  _hurt_. It's irrational, of course. Ultra Magnus owes him less than nothing.

In the past, Megatron would've simply left it at that. If Ultra Magnus thinks he's a monster, then what does it matter?

But it does matter, Megatron realizes. Far more than he ever could've imagined, not so long ago.

He reads the report, sends his reply, then composes a message of his own:

_Concerns regarding Rodimus' conduct. Input requested._


End file.
